


Come Live With Me and Be My Love

by LydiaOLydia



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Holocaust, I promise, Moving In Together, Not angsty, amy is a little insecure about their relationship, but not a lot, it's not mentioned directly, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:54:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5699113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOLydia/pseuds/LydiaOLydia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jake and Amy move in together, sifting through boxes brings up a lot of memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Live With Me and Be My Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the lovely and super patient jacobperralta for the Brooklyn 99 Christmas gift exchange. I'm so sorry for the delay! I had a real crisis of confidence, so I deleted most of a draft and started over again.
> 
> Hope you enjoy and a very happy belated Christmas to you!

When Amy had called her mom to tell her the “moving in with Jake” news, the reaction hadn’t been exactly encouraging.

“Do you know what you’re doing with this one?  M’ija, Jacob is a sweetheart, but, aren’t you rushing into this?” (Translation, where’s the ring?)   

“It’s going to be great, Mom.”  Amy took a deep breath and reminded herself not to react.  M’ija and other Spanish endearments were only used for serious guilt trip situations.  

She and Jake were adults. They were good.  They loved each other.  Everything was going to be fine.

“Mmm.”  Only Pilar Santiago could make an mmm sound like the worst thing in the world.

“I love Jake.  We’ve known each other for a long time, okay? We can make this work.”  She hated the defensive tone creeping into her voice.

“My darling, I know they say opposites attract, but sometimes being a man and woman is opposite enough.”Amy had hung up in a huff, convinced her mom was trying to mess with her head again.   

But now, seeing the boxes strewn all over their beautiful new apartment (the one with natural sunlight they had miraculously managed to scoop up AND afford), she had to admit maybe her mom had been a little bit right. 

What was she thinking?  She and Jake were so different.  It was obvious before they’d even put together one stick of IKEA furniture.

Her boxes were neatly stacked on one side and labelled by room.  Tucked inside those boxes were smaller boxes with labels spelling out the objects inside with further notes on usage or season, if applicable.  

Just thinking about all that organization made her feel peaceful and centered.  And she was going to need to find her calm right now.

Because Jake’s randomly scattered boxes were all labelled “stuff.”  Oh wait, for variety, he had a few labelled, “things.”  Well, that was helpful.  Most of them displayed suspicious dents, like he had kicked them down the hall.

“Jake, I made a packing spreadsheet for you.  Did you not use it?”  She gave herself a mental slap on the forehead.  Of course not, why would Jake use such a thing? 

What was she doing?  Was this going to snowball into a huge disaster? 

Jake glanced up from the takeout pho he was trying to eat with a spork. “Spreadsheet?”  He tried for his adorable befuddled look.  He knew it got him out of trouble a lot of the time.   

But not this time.  “Jake, we’re having a house warming party tomorrow.  I already promised Charles we’d have a wok and pasta station set up for him.  We don’t even have chairs.  Everything is in boxes.  I don’t even know where the late spring placemats are.  What if we get stuck using the early summer ones instead?” Her voice rose into an aggravated squeak.

“Hey.  Relax.” Jake stood up and gave her a quick hug. He ran his fingers lightly down her back.   

She let herself melt into him and enjoy his scent, a mix of clean laundry detergent and limes and cilantro.  She relaxed. In spite of how tired and angry and frustrated she felt, she did relax.  For about five seconds.

Then she pushed off of him and straightened her spine.  She pretended not to notice his slightly hurt frown. 

“Okay, there’s nothing else to do but get started.  Grab a box.”

She insisted on alternating whose boxes they opened, even though Jake’s needed the most work.  It helped her from feeling overwhelmed, especially as it became clear Jake never threw away anything.

Jake started to act a little defensive after about her tenth comment. “What about you?  A gravy boat?  You don’t even cook.” 

“I might someday.  It could happen.  What about this old Polaroid of you and Terry?”  She waved it in the air. 

 “That was the day I solved my first case as a detective.”  Jake’s voice was filled with a combination of nostalgia and pride. 

 “The dreadlocks were a questionable choice.”   Questionable was an understatement.  Total fashion disaster was more accurate. 

 “Yeah. Sarge tried to talk me out of them, but I was in a Counting Crows phase and was convinced I could pull it off.” 

 Amy shook her head, but tossed it in the keep pile.  “Come on. Let’s keep going.  We’ve got to pick up the pace a little bit or we’ll never find the Hummel figurines.” 

She saw Jake mouth the words ‘Hummel figurines’ with horror, but he was smart enough not to say anything.  Maybe she wasn’t the only making sacrifices to make this work.

They each took a box and sat next to each other, backs propped up against the bare wall, shoulders pressed together.  They fell into an easy rhythm.  They had always had that, even before they were “together together.”   

 Okay, yes, they had always been a little too competitive and ridiculous with each other. There had been Truth or Dare on stakeouts and the trashcan basketball brawl Gina would never let them live down. 

 But they always fit together well. They knew how to follow each other’s lead undercover or how to communicate something in the interrogation room with a raised eyebrow or a quick nod. 

So when she felt the muscles in Jake’s arm tense, she knew something was wrong before she even looked up.

“Nana.”  He said in a whisper.

He passed a heavy silver frame to her.  The picture was faded black and white, but the woman was vibrant, almost glowing.   

She stood in front of the fountain at Rockefeller Center in a glamorous polka dot dress and two tone spectator pumps.  It was a windy day and she clutched at her tiny hat as dark curls whirled around her beautiful face.

But the most striking thing was her smile.   She had a wide, generous mouth, smiling a little half smile.   Jake smiled like that sometimes.  It was her favorite of his smiles, as a matter of fact.

Amy tapped the glass.  “She looks so happy.” 

“She was always one of the happiest people I knew. Pretty amazing, actually. She left Europe after the war with just the clothes on her back. She was nineteen.  She lost her family, her fiancé, everything.  She came to New York to live with some of her cousins and started over again.”

Amy gripped at the smooth edges of the picture a little tighter.  Her grandparents had moved from Cuba to New Jersey to start over, but at least they had each other.  “How did she meet your grandfather?”

 “They worked together in the garment district.  He used to walk her to Penn Station every day to the train.  And one day, she said everything clicked.  He took her to the Copacabana and they danced the night away.  They got married. Boom, that’s how the wonderful creation was me made it into this world.“  He made a flourishing gesture with his hands, as if he was finishing an awesome magic trick. 

“Sweet.”  Amy rubbed at the slick glass, wishing she had gotten a chance to meet Nana, hoping she would have earned her approval.

“Yeah.  Nana said she couldn’t stand Grandpa Murray at first. Said he was an overbearing showoff and they had nothing in common.”

“Doesn’t sound like anyone I know.”  Amy rolled her eyes.

“Thankfully, for the sake of posterity, he was a great dancer. Also, funny and charming like someone you know.”

Amy looked at the picture.  “I believe it.  She is a woman in love.  Your grandpa must have been quite a catch.”

“He was.  He also had a memorable profile, which I inherited.”  Jake laughed and then sighed, tilting his face to show off his silhouette.

“I like your nose.  It makes you …  you.” She said, helpless to find a better way to describe his essential Jake-ness.  
  
“Good, because Gina and I promised each other when we were twelve, no nose jobs.  She made me swear on her copy of Dirty Dancing, her most sacred text.  Speaking of which.”  He rooted through his box and pulled up a battered VHS cassette. “I wonder if she still wants this back?”

Amy sighed.  "I’m glad you didn’t get a nose job.  Same goes for Gina.  Although don’t ever tell her that.  Her ego doesn’t need any more fuel.”

“Agreed.”

They worked steadily for a bit.   Laughing when they both realized Rosa had given them both brass knuckles for their last birthdays and silently agreeing they couldn’t throw out Holt’s “gray rock” painting, no matter how terrible it was.

“Oh my god, you kept this?”  Amy pulled out a tiny reindeer ornament with ‘Jason’ stenciled on it in a fancy script. 

 She remembered staying up all night with a hot glue gun, burning her fingers, craving so desperately for the squad to like her, to think she was cool.  She’d thought homemade Christmas ornaments would do the trick.  Instead they had called her “Hermey the Elf” for about six months.

She traced the lettering.  “I didn’t even get your name right.”

Jake chuckled.  “You’d known me a week.  I had to keep something from your ‘suck up to everyone’ phase.”

“God, you must have thought I was such a dork.” Amy clonked her head lightly on the wall behind her, filled with frustration and embarrassment at the memories.

“You were a dork.  I also thought you were smart, adorable.”  He nudged his shoulder with hers.  “Kind of sexy.”

“You told Gina I wore orthopedic shoes and had librarian hair.”

“Okay, she wasn’t supposed to tell you and for the record, I’ve always thought librarians were hot.”

“If I was soooo hot, why didn’t you ask me out?”

“We worked together. You were really green.  And you were dating one of the Verbs at the time.”

“Verbs?” 

Yeah, you know.  WASPy guys, Verb names.  Chase, Read, Dash?  He worked for the IRS.”

Something percolated in the back of her brain. “Tag! Tag Shepherd.  I forgot about him.  And he did not work for the IRS.  He was a tax attorney.”

“And that’s so much better.”

Tag Shepherd was sweet.  He never would have packed his moving boxes in such a haphazard, disorganized manner.  Or put Hershey’s syrup on spinach and call it salad dressing.  

But then again, Tag would have never made her laugh like Jake did and she would have died of terminal boredom if she heard one more debate about capital gains tax.

She tried to put the reindeer ornament in the trash pile, but Jake put his hand over hers. 

“Nope.  It stays. It’s the first thing you ever gave me.”

She frowned, but something bright and warm sparked inside her.  Okay, Jake was a sentimental pack rat, but maybe it wasn’t always the worst thing in the world.

They took a moment to put on some music, debating on the merits of Katy Perry versus T-Swift (don’t drag me into the feud, Jake), but ended up settling for the Hamilton soundtrack.

Right around “My Shot,” Jake let out an oooh noise. “Ms. Santiago, here’s some trash you forgot to throw out.”  Jake’s voice was filled with gleeful triumph.

“Don’t throw it out.”  She reached for it and snatched it out of his hands, but he’d already seen it.  
He frowned.  “Wait.  This is the menu from our first date.”

“Hmm. I don’t know how that got in there.”  She tapped her finger to her lips and then stopped. Jake had told her a million times that was her tell.

Jake smirked.  “Confession time.”

She sighed, “Okay.  Fine.  I might have gone back after our date and grabbed a menu.”

“Why?  It’s not like you know if the food is even good.  We didn’t eat anything.”

“Yeah.”  Amy stared at the floor, remembering how quickly they had left the restaurant.  

“I mean, we can go back, if you want.”

“No.”  She rubbed her temples, barely able to believe she was admitting this.  “I went back and got it because I was going to keep a scrapbook of our relationship.”  She said the last words in fast mumble, but not fast enough, because laughter started bubbling out of Jake until he was doubled over, gasping for breath.

“Shut up.” She hit his arm hard, but she was laughing too.  

“But you never made the scrapbook.  This doesn’t sound like the Amy Santiago I know and love.”

She sighed.  “No.  I never did. I figured out a long time ago I wasn’t going to be able to pin you down on a page.  You’re way too unpredictable.  Besides, the scrapbook glue gave you a headache.  I decided to live every day with you, not looking too far backward, trying not to worry about the future.  Not too much, anyways.”

Jake smiled.  “Let me show you something.”  He reached in another half emptied box and handed her a crumpled cocktail napkin.

“Are you trying to tell me I need to blow my nose?” God even knew where the tissue boxes were.

“Read it.”

She smoothed the napkin open.  “Amy” was written in bold, block letters.  Then a few scribbles she couldn’t identify.  It was written in Jake’s childish scrawl, she would have recognized it anywhere.

She held it up.  “I wasn’t the only one who saved something.”

He scratched at the back of his neck. “Well, yeah.  I’m horrible at remembering dates.  I didn’t want to forget.”

She stared.  The scribble became numbers.  The numbers arranged themselves into a calendar date.  “The restaurant.  Our first date.”

“Yeah, it all seemed pretty special, so yeah, I wanted to remember it.  I grabbed a cocktail napkin and wrote it down while I figured out the tip.  I think I tipped like 400 percent.  We were really, really drunk.”

He shrugged and turned away. Wait, was Jake Peralta embarrassed about something?  The cop who mooned Mayor Bloomberg on a dare?  How was that even possible?  

She knelt in front of him and guided his face towards hers.  “Jake, you’re a good guy.  You know that, right?” She brushed her lips against his for a quick kiss.

He smiled.  The favorite smile.  The one she liked to think was just for her.  “One day at a time, right?”

She shrugged.  “No other way.”

She knew exactly what she was doing with Jake now. Living happily ever after.


End file.
